Drain

You say it again, “You don’t love me,”
etching it into existence, carving it into stone.
The wall I once thought I had torn down,
you build it anew, brick by brick,
fortifying the distance between us.

We were once so steady, so alive with laughter,
but the light in your eyes flickers and fades.
Should I stay? I wonder,
as you drain my spirit,
leaving me hollow, weary from the fight.
It feels as though you thrive on breaking me,
pulling strength from my exhaustion.

I beg you to stop—
I don’t want to fight anymore,
but you latch on like a dog to a bone,
never knowing when to quit.
You pin every wrong on me,
sharp words cutting deeper than you know.

I pleaded, don’t call me stupid—
it’s the one word I cannot bear.
So, you twist the knife with synonyms:
idiot, dumb, moron, retard.

I can feel it now—hate,
like a slow poison,
creeping through my veins.
I hate your presence,
your being,
the way you consume me.

And yet, I stay.
Empathy binds me, chains me,
even as you drain away
the last fragile threads of love
I once held for you.

NP